for writers_muses: did i die?
Jul. 7th, 2009 11:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayer"... did I die?"
They were the first words West had managed after nearly five minutes of coughing up water, and yet Sylar ignored him. It was well and good that the kid was alive, but he was in the middle of something and didn't exactly appreciate the interruption. The coughing had been enough -- he didn't need to have his concentration further shattered by having to carry on a conversation, too.
West, however, didn't seem to agree and after a groan, he managed, "If I'm dead, the afterlife sucks. My head is killing me."
Sighing, agitated, Sylar looked away from his work, shooting a black look over his shoulder at his partner, who laid sprawled on the deck a few feet off, soaking wet, the heels of his palms dug into his eyes. Then, shaking his head a little, he turned back to his work -- at the rate this was going, maybe he would have been better off, leaving West to drown in the hot tub.
"I know you're there. I can hear you breathing."
"Shut up," Sylar snapped.
Behind him, he heard West push himself into a sit, shakily. "Okay, I don't know about you, but I almost died. I think you can be -- "
He stopped short, and even without looking back again, Sylar could have said exactly what had made him hesitate. There on the deck in front of the killer was West's would-be murderer, the top of his head unmistakably missing. Blood pooled around what remained of his skull, beading on the wood like raindrops, the waterproofing of the deck apparently keeping it from staining. His hands and clothing, however, were another story, though he doubted that West had quite noted that in his horror.
"What -- what did you do?"
"What does it look like?" He almost had what he was looking for now, fingers reaching the end of the intricate road map of twist and turns he'd been tracing through West's attacker's head.
"Yeah, well, duh," West shot back, struggling to pull himself to his feet, and briefly, Sylar couldn't help but wonder if West was going to try and make a run for it. The boy knew what he was, yes, but he'd never actually seen him kill anyone, and there was a difference between seeing and knowing. "But we can't just stay here, now that you've decided to go all kill crazy."
"You rather I'd let him live?" The other man muttered something indecisive, paused, and then opened his mouth to say something else. And assuming that he was going to say something to try and hurry him along, Sylar beat him to the punch. "The longer you distract me, the longer this is going to take."
"... right."
After that, West was silent -- probably trying to get his bearings, between the murder and his own near-death experience -- and Sylar went back to work. It didn't take him long to find way he was looking for, and after a moment of feeling like he was dying himself, his head abuzz with pain, bloody fingers dug into his own temples, he took a deep breath. A moment of silence while he got his head back on straight, and then Sylar was getting to his feet.
"We need to go."
West, who had looked away while he'd finished, returned his attentions to him, frowning. "Where? We're on a boat."
"You were the one that suggested we needed to get the hell out of Dodge." He shrugged, reaching down in a futile attempt to wipe his hands off on his jeans. "You can fly. Get us out of here."
The frown turned to an incredulous look. "You're kidding, right?" Sylar shook his head, his own expression expectant. "Okay, uh, did you miss the part where I almost drowned? The only reason I'm actually having this conversation with you and not, like, passed out or whatever is because I'm freaking out."
"We need to go," Sylar repeated; this time there was no room for argument.
"Fine, right, whatever," the other man muttered, moving over to him, to wrap an arm around his waist. "But you owe me a week in, like -- like Tahiti or something after this. You were the one that got all curious about how that first guy got killed in the first place."
"We'll see." A pause, in which he raised his eyes skyward, and then, "Get us out of here."
West muttered something under his breath, and then they were rising off of the deck, slowly. Sylar could only hope that there was something -- an island, a port, whatever -- close enough for them to get to before the other man passed out as he had threatened.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 789
Note: West is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ihavea_theory and is used with permission.
They were the first words West had managed after nearly five minutes of coughing up water, and yet Sylar ignored him. It was well and good that the kid was alive, but he was in the middle of something and didn't exactly appreciate the interruption. The coughing had been enough -- he didn't need to have his concentration further shattered by having to carry on a conversation, too.
West, however, didn't seem to agree and after a groan, he managed, "If I'm dead, the afterlife sucks. My head is killing me."
Sighing, agitated, Sylar looked away from his work, shooting a black look over his shoulder at his partner, who laid sprawled on the deck a few feet off, soaking wet, the heels of his palms dug into his eyes. Then, shaking his head a little, he turned back to his work -- at the rate this was going, maybe he would have been better off, leaving West to drown in the hot tub.
"I know you're there. I can hear you breathing."
"Shut up," Sylar snapped.
Behind him, he heard West push himself into a sit, shakily. "Okay, I don't know about you, but I almost died. I think you can be -- "
He stopped short, and even without looking back again, Sylar could have said exactly what had made him hesitate. There on the deck in front of the killer was West's would-be murderer, the top of his head unmistakably missing. Blood pooled around what remained of his skull, beading on the wood like raindrops, the waterproofing of the deck apparently keeping it from staining. His hands and clothing, however, were another story, though he doubted that West had quite noted that in his horror.
"What -- what did you do?"
"What does it look like?" He almost had what he was looking for now, fingers reaching the end of the intricate road map of twist and turns he'd been tracing through West's attacker's head.
"Yeah, well, duh," West shot back, struggling to pull himself to his feet, and briefly, Sylar couldn't help but wonder if West was going to try and make a run for it. The boy knew what he was, yes, but he'd never actually seen him kill anyone, and there was a difference between seeing and knowing. "But we can't just stay here, now that you've decided to go all kill crazy."
"You rather I'd let him live?" The other man muttered something indecisive, paused, and then opened his mouth to say something else. And assuming that he was going to say something to try and hurry him along, Sylar beat him to the punch. "The longer you distract me, the longer this is going to take."
"... right."
After that, West was silent -- probably trying to get his bearings, between the murder and his own near-death experience -- and Sylar went back to work. It didn't take him long to find way he was looking for, and after a moment of feeling like he was dying himself, his head abuzz with pain, bloody fingers dug into his own temples, he took a deep breath. A moment of silence while he got his head back on straight, and then Sylar was getting to his feet.
"We need to go."
West, who had looked away while he'd finished, returned his attentions to him, frowning. "Where? We're on a boat."
"You were the one that suggested we needed to get the hell out of Dodge." He shrugged, reaching down in a futile attempt to wipe his hands off on his jeans. "You can fly. Get us out of here."
The frown turned to an incredulous look. "You're kidding, right?" Sylar shook his head, his own expression expectant. "Okay, uh, did you miss the part where I almost drowned? The only reason I'm actually having this conversation with you and not, like, passed out or whatever is because I'm freaking out."
"We need to go," Sylar repeated; this time there was no room for argument.
"Fine, right, whatever," the other man muttered, moving over to him, to wrap an arm around his waist. "But you owe me a week in, like -- like Tahiti or something after this. You were the one that got all curious about how that first guy got killed in the first place."
"We'll see." A pause, in which he raised his eyes skyward, and then, "Get us out of here."
West muttered something under his breath, and then they were rising off of the deck, slowly. Sylar could only hope that there was something -- an island, a port, whatever -- close enough for them to get to before the other man passed out as he had threatened.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 789
Note: West is
ihavea_theory and is used with permission.
